


a breeze of morning

by guanlin



Category: Produce 101 (TV), Wanna One (Band)
Genre: Fluff, Happy Ending, M/M, OH MAN OH MAN OH MAN, Pining, Royalty AU, ancient greek au, idk - Freeform, its going off boys, just some young lads falling in love ya knw, prince AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-04
Updated: 2017-09-04
Packaged: 2018-12-23 20:16:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,767
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11997177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/guanlin/pseuds/guanlin
Summary: They face each other and Guanlin’s stare is so intense he cannot look away and yet he cannot bear to look, it is the sun setting and rising and oblivion all at once.“I cannot lose you,” he says finally





	a breeze of morning

_First; he touches you and you light on fire. your wrist blazes where his fingers meet your skin. the burns don’t show but it’s hard to breathe. with ash in your lungs, it’s so hard to breathe. you’re suffocating daily._

 

 

Guanlin is tall and devastatingly beautiful when he wanders into Jihoon's father’s palace , the sun’s rays catching his brown eyes and setting them alight. It is the height of summer when he comes, the heat heavy and buzzing, making everything move sluggishly, beating the life ruthlessly from all those with the gift of breathing. Apart from Guanlin. Guanlin, who stands tall and proud despite his feet, torn and bloody from the dirt roads of their kingdom, despite how a prince getting thrown from his own palace is a curse worse than hell. At least in hell, you are not alone. Jihoon sits up in his throne, back arrow straight, attempting to look as intimidating as he can with salty beads of sweat leaving tracks down his neck. They had heard of a prince losing his title, but had never expected him to come and kneel at _their_ feet. Guanlin’s kingdom was hundreds of miles from theirs, there must have been a motive, a reason, for him to be here. 

“Your highness,” Guanlin says, kneeling against the polished marble of their throne room. For a moment, Jihoon wishes he could, too, slide to his knees and press his flushed skin against the cold of the floor. There’s something pleasant about Guanlin’s voice, deep and raw but soothing, like the sea licking against the burning sand. Jihoon makes sure his chin is held high, royal. 

“Why do you choose here?” he asks, making sure his voice echoes around the caverns of the room. In the distance, the sound of waves crashing against the rocks of the caves is audible. Guanlin lifts his head a fraction. 

“You were banished from a place far from here, yes? Why walk all this way?”

Guanlin lifts his head fully this time, neck arching gracefully like that of a swan and Jihoon takes this moment to assess his whole stance. It is obvious he has been raised as a prince, shoulders square and drawn back, hands calloused from many years of fighting with spears and shields. 

“I had heard of your lands, your highness, of you and your father’s kindness. I thought that if anywhere were to be kind enough to make something out of me, even just a servant, it would be here.”

Jihoon thinks this over, turns his head over to gaze over his kingdom. When he licks his lips, he tastes salt. 

“Very well,” he says finally, “You will stay with me, and serve as my parlour boy. I feel I need not explain to you what one of those is, as i’m sure you had one before.” His voice catches on the before, and he feels guilty even though Guanlin shows no sign of offence. Guanlin nods, bowing deep, forehead pressing against the floor and Jihoon’s eyes catch on his hands, his fingers. They are long, delicate looking, obviously unexposed to hard work. _Bird bones_ , Jihoon thinks, _fragile sparrow bones_. He thinks, _we will make a falcon out of you yet._

 

 

Guanlin sleeps on a pallet at the end of Jihoon’s own bed and he cannot help but admire how peaceful the younger boy looks, black hair fanned around his face like a halo, a dark angel. The sun is just beginning to peak over the horizon and the gauze of the curtain lifts and falls gently, as if beckoning Jihoon to it. Quietly, he lifts his covers and slips from his bed, bare feet cool against the floor. He takes one last fleeting glance at Guanlin before exiting the window. It doesn’t take long to reach the sea and Jihoon relishes in the feeling of sand between his toes, the light breeze lifting his hair from his damp forehead. It is always hot, here. Jihoon wanders down to the sea, topaz blue and gold where the sun’s rays reach, pouring buckets of light into the depths below. The sea foams over his toes, over his feet and ankles and Jihoon breathes in the salty air, the unmistakeable smell of _home_. 

“Your highness,” someone says and without turning around, Jihoon knows it's Guanlin. He knows Guanlin by the sound of his feet, by the sound of his breathing, asleep or awake. 

“It’s wonderful, isn’t it?” Jihoon asks, “the sea.”

When he gets no reply, he turns around. Guanlin stands in the sand, a few feet away, sleeping tunic unbuttoned and billowing around his body. Jihoon finds himself swallowing at the sight of the expanse of tan skin, visible muscles. Guanlin’s soft hair blows about his face, strands lit up by the morning sun. It is one of those moments Jihoon will remember forever. 

“I suppose,” Guanlin reasons and Jihoon turns back around, fists clenching at his side. He’s sweating again, even though it’s been weeks and summer is almost over. Guanlin doesn’t leave his side, they sleep together in the chambers and eat together in the great hall, knees knocking under the table and they fight together, train for the imminent wars that are yet to befall on Jihoon’s kingdom. On _their_ kingdom. Jihoon reaches a hand back to beckon Guanlin to him but the combination of the skewed balance and the uneven sand leaves him teetering, about to topple before strong arms find their way to Jihoon’s shoulders, bird bones squeezing at the skin there as Guanlin darts forward to catch him. There’s a stomach pressed flush against his back and Guanlin is so close, Jihoon can smell him, olive soap and sweat and figs. The skin under Guanlin’s hands burns. 

“Be careful, your highness,” he murmurs and his breath fans over Jihoon’s neck, making goosebumps rise despite it’s warmth. Jihoon cannot force himself to move, “You can’t get hurt.”

“Jihoon,” the prince finds himself breathing out and Guanlin finally steps away from him. At the sight of his furrowed brows, Jihoon repeats himself, “Call me Jihoon, I enjoy your company far too much for you to be so formal.”

Guanlin’s handsome face looks surprised, but, like everything else about him, it is fleeting. He smiles instead, gentle unlike the rest of him and Jihoon can feel his own heart cracking open inch by inch, _fragile sparrow bones, we will make a falcon out of you yet,_

“Jihoon,” Guanlin murmurs and the sound of his name from Guanlin’s mouth, in his voice, has him shivering, inexplicably. 

 

“Come," he says instead, when the sea licking against his toes snaps him from his trance, “It is golden hour, see?”

Jihoon lifts his hand so it catches the sun, and it looks doused in gold, Guanlin watches him, transfixed. 

“Legend has it that if you swim in the water that the rays hit, you are swimming in solid gold.”

Guanlin’s eyes are filled with mirth but he nods all the same. 

“What are we waiting for then?” he asks and before Jihoon can even blink he’s shrugging his shirt from his shoulders, pulling his pants from his strong legs and miles and miles of skin until he’s stark naked and Jihoon has the strange urge to look away, heat filling his cheeks. Guanlin is suddenly splashing into the water, losing every bit of grace he had previously gathered but then he enters the light and everything Jihoon had been thinking dissipates into a cloud. If Guanlin is a servant, a prince on land, then he is a God in water, in sunlight, all strong features and perfect skin, jutting collarbones and adam’s apple and Jihoon can do nothing but watch helplessly. It is worldwide knowledge that gods and mortals paths are not meant to cross but Jihoon cannot help but tempt fate when Guanlin’s mouth opens wide into an excited laugh. 

“Jihoon!” he shouts, voice a little higher than usual, “Don’t you want to be golden?”

At this, Jihoon doesn’t hesitate to follow him. In fact, he would follow him into gold, and into blood and into disease and famine. He decides he would follow him into death, into hell if it would mean they were to be together. _Don’t you want to be golden?_

 

_*_

 

_Second; it hurts to watch him. he shines. he’s brighter than the sun. he’s too beautiful for your eyes. it’s hard to look at him. it’s even harder to look away from him. you’re going blind._

 

Jihoon finds that Guanlin is most captivating when he’s fighting. Everyday, after mandatory lessons and Jihoon’s princely duties, he and Guanlin go to the courtyard everyday, under the shade of the fig trees and they fight. Guanlin may be a servant boy now, but he fights like the prince he once was. Today, the boy is fierce, eyes bright and fiery as the midday sun glints menacingly off of his sword. Today, it is three months since Guanlin has arrived. He tilts his head downwards, eyes boring into Jihoon’s own as if to beckon, as if to say, _at your own risk_. Here, all softness is gone, here, he is a falcon. Jihoon lunges forward, his own sword outstretched but Guanlin simply darts back so he only slices air. And then the dance begins. They dart around each other, playing cat and mouse as their sandals kick up dirt from the courtyard and neither notice they have an audience, that the knights and servants have gathered around them. Gods will bow to Guanlin like this, strong arms, veiny and muscly - _Jihoon_ will bow to Guanlin like this, touch his head to Guanlin’s knee caps, wrap his hands around his ankles. The thought of it, of being on his knees before his servant boy makes him stutter, only a little but it is the chance Guanlin needs to lunge and press the point of his sword against the soft spot of Jihoon’s throat. He knows, that Guanlin wouldnever dream of hurting him but he cannot help the spark of fear, of vulnerability he feels at the point of a sword. One push forward would strike him dead. Despite the fear, the thought of his life at Guanlin’s hands sends a tingle up Jihoon’s spine. It is practically unheard of that Jihoon, one of the greatest fighters of their nation, is beaten so this is what draws Jihoon’s attention to the crowd surrounding them. There are many gasps, some whispers but Jihoon can merely only glance at them before his eyes are drawn back to Guanlin, always back to Guanlin. He is breathing heavily, the fire in his eyes has died down to just a flicker but Jihoon is still too warm, still too flustered to move so Guanlin moves, muscles in his arms flexing as he brings his sword down to rest in its sheath. He steps closer, too close and lifts a hand and Jihoon is immediately worried, heart jumping at the proximity. This close, he can see the beads of sweat running down the smooth column of Guanlin’s neck, feel the heat radiating off him in waves. Guanlin settles his hand on his neck and then smooths a hand over where his sword had been. The touch, the proximity, has Jihoon reeling, so much so that he barely notices Guanlin’s thumb come away red. 

“I cut you,” Guanlin mutters and his hands start fluttering around Jihoon’s body like restless butterflies, his chest, his back, his shoulders. He still can’t take his eyes off him. 

“Your highness,” Guanlin says, panic evident in his voice, and Jihoon can’t help but wince. 

“Guanlin,” Jihoon laughs, fingers moving to wrap around the thin bone of his wrists to stop his panicky movements but then he remembers the crowd of royal knights around them and Jihoon realises with a strange feeling of detachment that Guanlin has just committed mild treason, that the fear in his eyes, bright as the night sky, is real, that Guanlin isn’t worried about hurting him, he’s worried about _himself_. 

 

Jihoon’s jaw snaps shut and his chin is immediately raised, shoulders high. Blood pools slowly in his clavicle even though it was a minor cut. If it were just he and Guanlin, they would have laughed about it by now, began climbing the fig trees, letting the sticky fruit juice drip down their elbows. Reality hits them like Zeus has sent a lightning bolt from wherever Gods go to shock them. _You are not meant to be friends, Gods are not meant to love mortals._ Guanlin folds his legs under him and he is bowing, his armour turning grey and dusty from the courtyard floor. Jihoon cannot, will not, lift his eyes from him to look at the knights surrounding them. His body itches to move, to relax and kneel down beside Guanlin but he is a _prince_ , first and foremost, and he cannot dote on anyone. He lifts his head high again and when he speaks, the voice of a prince, a king, comes out. It does not shock him, how his soft spoken words turn into those of razor sharp edges. _This is who he was born to be_.

“Stand down, knights,” he says, all bright steel, “I will deal with him.”

He hears the clatter and familiar sound of weapons being sheathed again, the mighty knights of his kingdom standing down. With a careless, princely hand, he shoos them away. Soon, it is he and Guanlin left, the dusty floor of the courtyard and the fig trees above them. Jihoon is still breathing hard and the familiar sense of adrenaline rushes through his veins, makes his blood sing high tunes.

“Stand, Guanlin,” he murmurs and although his voice has returned to normal, there’s still a sense of cold detachment. He hates it. Guanlin obeys him and when he stands, he towers over Jihoon, too close. 

“Jihoon,” Guanlin says and although his voice is still panicked, joy sparks unapologetic and bright in Jihoon’s heart at the sound of his name,“Your highness, do with me what you wish i am not worthy-“

“Hush, Guanlin, you were fighting with me as a prince, not as a servant boy. I do not mind that you drew blood, in fact, it was refreshing to be beaten for once, as the knights are always too scared to beat me” - Guanlin smiles softly at this although his face is still anxious and closed off - “You will receive no punishment, you will continue as my parlour boy - as my _friend.”_

“But the knights,” Guanlin argues helplessly. 

“Are my men. You forget that I am the prince, soon to be king, of this kingdom. They cannot question me, and as you are my most trusted man, they cannot question you. You need not worry, Guanlin, you are under the crown’s protection.”

The taller boy nods, and his hair falls over his forehead, tumbling like each strand is in a chariot race and Jihoon has the urge to reach up, brush it back, tangle the tan of his fingers into the hair but he cannot, he will not. Instead, he sheaths his sword and turns on his heel, finally drawing his eyes away and gesturing for Guanlin to follow him. He does not need to turn around to know he is. Around them, the knights exchange looks and although they can do nothing to Jihoon, anxiety bubbles in his stomach. _Do they know?_ It is not unusual in these lands for a man to take another man as a lover but they never end up together, especially not princes. He clenches his fists as he walks, back straight, head high. He repeats ‘ _Gods do not love mortals’_ over and over again in his head like a mantra. He will learn to live by it. 

 

*

 

_third; your ears are tuned to his voice, you could pick him out in a sea of thousands. his voice makes pretty singers who sing pretty songs sound dull. his voice makes everything else sound ugly._

 

Autumn passes uneventfully and Winter brings respite from the heat, brings the first fall of rain and, with it, brings the death of Jihoon’s father. It is not unexpected, very little is, as he has been ill for many summers but his Father’s request for Jihoon to come to his bed chambers is still surprising, still has Jihoon’s knees buckling a little. Guanlin stops them, of course, with a hand on the curve of his waist. 

“Do you want me to come with you?” he murmurs, voice soft and lovely. His hand does not move and Jihoon hates that he notices how it curves into him, like Zeus had carved them with each other in mind. Jihoon nods and when he looks out of the window, storm clouds roll over the sea. Fitting. The whole palace seems to be under a strange cloak of grief, the sun not reaching the white walls of the corridors as he and Guanlin head towards his father’s chambers, their shoulders pressed together. Guanlin has never met his father, the king and Jihoon can tell he’s nervous, a little jittery in the way his chest lifts a little more than it usually does. 

“You don’t have to come,” Jihoon tells him when they reach the door, “I can do it on my own.”  
“No,” Guanlin says, voice rough and the determinedness in his voice tells Jihoon everything. He places a hand on the door knob and pushes down. Immediately, Jihoon wants to turn around and flee the room. The sight of his father, laying thin and frail, swaddled in sheets has his heart dropping. He doesn’t want to cry, princes - _kings_ \- are not permitted to cry but his throat begins closing up anyway. He takes a step back and collides straight into Guanlin’s chest. 

“I-I can’t,” he murmurs and he can’t draw his eyes from his father. The king, the kind and gentle monarch, always fair, always just. His father, laugh lines at the corner of his eyes, his deep voice reciting old myths and legends to him whilst the fire burnt bright in the grate. His father, golden hour, rising out of the water like Poseidon. Guanlin places a hand firmly on his lower back and the touch is grounding. 

“You _must_ ,” he says, almost hissing in the way it comes out like a puff of air on the back of Jihoon’s neck. He must. 

 

Jihoon’s father comes to when he reaches his bed, almost as if his son’s presence was enough to rouse him. 

“Father,” Jihoon whispers and it comes out almost as a plead, a prayer. Guanlin stands by the door, watching over them. _A falcon_. The king smiles, weak and watery. 

“My son,” he rasps, “I have missed you, my son.”  
Jihoon falls to his knees beside his father’s bed, grasping onto his hand. It is as if his father has aged forty years within weeks, as if all of his life’s experiences are finally catching up with him, finally bringing him to his knees. He wants to plead, wants to kick and scream and cry about how unfair it is, about how he isn’t ready. Isn’t ready to lose his father, to become king, to love Guanlin, to govern a kingdom. His father smiles again, as if he knows exactly what Jihoon is thinking. 

“I heard you have taken an advisor for yourself?” he questions and Jihoon stares at his eyes, old and wise and the only thing that hasn’t changed about him since he was merely a little boy, stumbling through the palace walls. He nods, a little bashful. 

“I have, father. I hope you do not mind, I feel he has my best interests at heart.”

His father smiles and closes his eyes, a little longer than a blink, before opening them again. 

“May I meet the one you trust so much?”

Jihoon turns his head to Guanlin and the younger boy is immediately stumbling forward to stand behind Jihoon. He bows, low and respectful as the king watches him with keen interest. 

“Ah,” he murmurs, “The fallen prince. Something told me you two would find your way to each other.”

Jihoon, despite himself, smiles. 

“May I have your blessing, father? To keep him by my side?”

The old man smiles aagin, and the smile lines crinkle at the edges. He lifts his other hand, gesturing for Guanlin to lean across and take it. He does, with little hesitation.

“My boy, my prince, you have my blessing a thousand times over.”

His father closes his eyes now, much longer than a blink and Jihoon cannot help the anxiety in his heart when he squeezes his father’s hand, he feels Guanlin behind him, standing so close he can feel the skin of his naval pressing against his shoulder. 

“Jihoon,” his father says suddenly, voice and breathing getting weaker by the minute, “As a king, I will advise you to be careful, to do what is best for our people. As a father, I will tell you only this. in Plato’s Symposium, he says that humans were originally created with four arms, four legs and a head with two faces. Zeus was so frightened of the power they could bring that he split them into two, leaving them to scour the world to find their other half. I trust that if you have found them, whoever it may be, you do not keep it hidden. I will condemn you from the grave if your _philtatos_ moves the earth for you, and you do not do the same.”

_Philtatos,_ a most beloved. Like this, Jihoon’s father breathes his last breath. Like this, Jihoon becomes king. A breeze, light and airy filters through the window, lifting the hair on his forehead. He leans forward and presses his lips to the back of his father’s hand. 

 

Later, when the announcement of the king’s death has shocked the kingdom and the moon spills its light into his and Guanlin’s sleeping chambers, Jihoon crosses a barrier. 

“Guanlin?” he questions quietly although he knows that Guanlin is awake because he isn’t breathing the way he does in slumber, slow and calm. 

“Yes?” the other replies and the sound of the voice Jihoon loves so much has him aching, the hole in his chest yawning open wider. 

“Can you sleep up here tonight?”

There is silence, the only noise the gentle lapping of the waves before a rustling is heard, a commotion and a shadow looming over Jihoon. 

“Are you sure?” the other questions, “You’re king now, are you sure?”  
Jihoon knows the unspoken question. It will be even stranger if they find another boy in your bed now you’re king but he can’t bring it in himself to care, is too weak to beat off his craving for Guanlin’s closeness, proximity. He can do nothing but nod, scooting over on his bed until Guanlin can slide under the covers next to him. The heat of him is familiar, they have stood close to each other a thousand, a million, times but tonight feels somewhat different. Like he and Guanlin are magnetised to come together, to attract each other. Jihoon finds himself moving, closer until he can’t anymore, when their sides are pressed together, Jihoon’s face in the crook of Guanlin’s neck. The other doesn’t seem to mind, just turns on his side so he can press his hand against Jihoon’s back, arching him forward until their chests are flush against each other. There is no need to speak, they have the rest of their lives to speak, but Jihoon wants to hear his voice. 

“You were banished from your palace a long time ago, Guanlin, and I still know not why.”

Guanlin blinks and Jihoon is close enough to count his eyelashes, the freckles on his nose. He would, if he had the time. 

“My brother, Jinyoung. He and I were incredibly close, we did everything together but he is older than me and was to become king when my father died. I didn’t mind, of course, I had no desires to become king anytime soon. However, there was…a conflict between my brother and our father when my brother decided he wished to become betrothed to a man, have one of our knights, Daehwi, stay by his side during his reign. My father was repulsed by it but I could see not why it was to cause any harm, there was other ways to keep the royal bloodline flowing but he and Jinyoung kept fighting, so I decided to help him. I stood up to my father about the issue and in a fit of anger and to punish Jinyoung, he had me banished from the kingdom.”  
Guanlin speaks about it with a strange sort of detachedness, like he’s made peace with it and moved on but Jihoon can tell by the lilt in his beautiful voice that it hurts him to talk about. 

“I’m sorry,” Jihoon murmurs and he means it, “It was brave, what you did for your brother, he and his knight deserved to be married, deserved to be together. I am sorry it didn’t turn out that way.”  
Guanlin shrugs, shoulders rising and falling like the tide. 

“Jinyoung vowed that he would come to me when my father dies, that he and Daehwi would be together and I could rule beside them. It was what I clung to when I first came here but now…”

“Now?” Jihoon presses. 

“Now, I can’t help but think I would rather rule beside you.”

Jihoon smiles, and listens to the waves and thinks of his father. 

“Thank you,” he murmurs and Guanlin’s hand shifts a little.

“For what?”  
“Sacrificing your world for me. Moving the earth for me.”

Jihoon feels Guanlin’s heart beat quicken. 

“Anything,” he hears Guanlin reply before he falls asleep. 

 

*

 

_fourth; the colour of his eyes is deep enough to drown in. he is turning you into a clichéd, love wrecked being. you’re drowning, always sinking. down, down, down._

 

Battle comes a month later, rearing it’s ugly head as an army no bigger than Jihoon’s waits impatiently at the kingdom’sgate, as if someone will just come along and kindly let them in. It is early morning when they arrive, and one of Jihoon’s knights comes rushing into his and Guanlin’s bed chambers unannounced, shouting at how the city is under attack. He and Guanlin had taken to sleeping next to each other every night, did it as naturally as the sun rising, golden, every morning and if the knight notices, he says nothing. Immediately, Jihoon is jumping from his bed, and tugging on his armour, Guanlin just behind him. 

“Jihoon!” he exclaims, “You don’t really think you can fight?”  
Jihoon turns and looks at him incredulously and he sees Guanlin’s eyes, clear as a summers day, flashing with fear. 

“Why wouldn’t I?” he asks petulantly, pulling his breastplate over his head and turning for Guanlin to lace it up. He does, and Jihoon relishes in the feeling of his fingers against the bare skin of his back. 

“You are the king, Jihoon, with no heir. If you get killed on the battlefield, who will take your place?”  
“You will,” Jihoon replies easily and Guanlin stutters, hands faltering in their deft movements. 

“I-what?” he splutters. 

“You will take my place, there is no one else I would rather lose my crown to than to you.”

Guanlin steps away from him, places both hands softly on his shoulder and spins him on his heel. They face each other and Guanlin’s stare is so intense he cannot look away and yet he cannot bare to look, it is the sun setting and rising and oblivion all at once. 

“I cannot lose you,” he says finally

Guilt pools like molten lava in his stomach, burning through his organs straight to his core and yet he cannot do this, this is his kingdom, his people, he would be a coward to not fight. He reaches a hand upwards, settles is against the sharp jut of Guanlin’s cheekbone. He wishes to be selfish, to let his people fight without him and stay with Guanlin in their room, swim in gold on the beach. _We will make a falcon out of you yet_.

“Do not be selfish, Guanlin. I have a duty to fulfil. You can fight with me, or you can be a coward and wait for me here.”

Guanlin sighs, long and suffering and suddenly there is a hand squeezing Jihoon’s own. He and Guanlin have touched before, of course, slept together, tended to each other’s wounds but there is something so tender, so intimate about hand holding that has Jihoon wanting to pull away. He doesn’t, though, just laces his fingers through Guanlin’s and squeezes. 

“I will follow you everywhere,” Guanlin says finally, turning to put his own armour on. His eyes are liquid gold when he turns his head into the sunlight, “You know that I will follow you everywhere.”

He seems almost angry about this fact, frustrated that he must fight alongside Jihoon so the other boy can only laugh, brushing their shoulders together in a tender show of affection. 

“And I, you,” he murmurs. 

 

The battle is already hot and bloody when he and Guanlin ride into it on horseback, his arms tight around Guanlin’s waist. It is a tactic that Jihoon does not wear his crown in battle, or the royal crest as other kings do, so that there are no people after him specifically. It seems that this works as no one even turns an eye at he or Guanlin as they walk closer. Eventually, Jihoon taps Guanlin’s side to signal that it is enough, that they were ready to engage in battle now. He is about to slide from the horses back when Guanlin’s hand circles around his wrist. Jihoon cannot see his eyes, but he can imagine what they must be like. Dark, blazing with determination. Guanlin has no wrath when fighting, no mercy, and Jihoon can only feel sorry for those that will cross him today. 

“Be careful,” he says, “I will not forgive you if I have to become king. I avoided it once, I wish to avoid it again.”

Jihoon laughs at his weak attempt to make a joke, sliding from the horses back and onto the dusty floor, into the morning sun. 

“Come back to me,” Guanlin tells him, not a request, a _command_ , and when their eyes _do_ meet, Guanlin’s gaze is so tender he looks away, nodding curtly before disappearing into the fray. 

 

Battle has never been one of Jihoon’s favourite activities. He has only ever been in one, a few months before Guanlin had come and he had spilled so much blood it had haunted him for weeks after. He understands that as the king, he must take a certain role, a certain responsibility in battle, perhaps to deliver the final blow, or get his hands as dirty as the rest of his men. He has no problem with it, it is in his title, his culture to be a killer too. He cannot fight with thousands of years of history. He keeps his head as low as he can without hindering his sight, so no one recognises his baby face (people know what their king looks like, of course) and begins slashing out at all of the men in armour that doesn’t match his own. His men outnumber the other side’s by at least a hundred. Jihoon isn’t too worried, he thinks, as he slashes outwards and collides with the soft skin between the front and back of someone’s chest plate. He watches crimson spread across their tunic, watches them fall to their knees as if the hand of God himself had helped him down. It’s getting towards midday now and the heat is close to unbearable, Jihoon’s head pounds and sweat pours off of him. They’ve been fighting for hours now, a little longer than Jihoon would have liked. Someone to his left lunges for him, spear outstretched and he manages to dodge with little to no problem, only receiving a long cut across his arm, not deep enough to be fatal but big enough to hurt. Jihoon turns on him, brandishing his sword but there is already another sword plunged through the mans abdomen, clean through and slick with blood. Jihoon feels a little sickened at the sight but the man falls to the floor and reveals Guanlin, hair matted with sweat and blood, eyes burning in white fury. Jihoon finds himself stumbling to him. 

“Are you okay?” Guanlin asks him but Jihoon’s vision is going blurry around the edges, a combination of exhaustion and dehydration setting in. Guanlin touches his face, his forehead and Jihoon smiles sleepily at the touch, the softness, the carefulness. He feels himself hoisted onto Guanlin’s shoulder. 

“Hold on,” he hears him hiss through gritted teeth.

 

Jihoon wakes under the shelter of an olive tree, a few hundred metres from the battle. Guanlin sits next to him, sword propped against the tree next to him as he gazes out over the battle. Jihoon groans as he tries to move, a ruthless pain exploding in his head. Guanlin jumps, immediately shifting over him, offering him water. Jihoon takes it gratefully, cupping Guanlin’s hand with his own as he drinks. Guanlin helps him lay his head back down and he looks so beautiful hovering above him, mouth soft and gentle, hair falling over his head. 

“How do you feel?” he asks, hand settled on Jihoon’s stomach. 

“Terrible,” the other admits, “Like Thor just dropped his hammer directly on my head.”  
Guanlin laughs at this, but there’s still anxiety in his gaze. 

“I will be find,” Jihoon assures, “We must continue in the fight.”  
He attempts to sit up, Guanlin rushing to aid him. The taller bites at his lip and Jihoon has the urge to thumb it away, or cover them with his own. 

“The battle is almost over, Jihoon,” he says, smoothing his hand down Jihoon’s back. Every touch has Jihoon shivering, however small, “There is no need.”

Jihoon sighs.  
“I am the king,” he says, moving to grasp the handle of his sword and push himself up. By the look of the sun, evening is almost upon them, “I must fight with them.”

Guanlin sighs again, looking up at him as if he is the very bane of his existence. 

“By God,” he says, “You’re stubborn.”  
Jihoon smiles at him, reaching out a hand. 

“Let us finish this.”

 

They do finish it, a few hours later when the sun is finally lowering it’s weary light. Jihoon delivers the final blow, as custom to a king, as Guanlin hovers protectively at his shoulder. Their kingdom is safe, for now, and Jihoon is so exhausted he feels like collapsing right there on the battle field. He doesn’t though, simply pulls his helmet from his head and thanks his knights for their services, before sending them in to be fed and rest. He stares out at the field, at the bodies strewn across the dirt floor, some his own, most the other side. It’s strange, he thinks, how different someone can be on a battlefield compared to when they’re not. Like always, he’s thinking about Guanlin. The boy in question places a hand on his shoulder and smiles down on him, as Godlike as he is human. Jihoon smiles up at him for a second before his brightness forces him to look away, stare down at his feet bashfully like he isn’t surrounded by dead bodies. 

“Thank you, your highness,” Guanlin says suddenly, voice brighter and sweeter than any sound Jihoon’s ever heard, like the tinkling of glass chimes, “For coming back to me.”

“You know I will follow you everywhere,” he says in reply. 

 

*

 

 

_fifth; you know him, you love him. through a thousand lifetimes, across millions of stars, you’d find him. you’d never leave him. you love him, till death do you part._

 

The time after battle is always surreal, always strange and a little altered, like the sun has risen in the west instead of the east. Maybe that is why the mood is altered between he and Guanlin when they trudge down to the beach, towards the rolling waves of the sea. The sea will forgive them, the sea will wash them clean of their sins. He can feel Guanlin watching him in the way the tips of his fingers tingle like pricked with a thousand needles. The feeling is exhilarating. Golden hour is fast approaching, the suns light softening slowly until everything is bathed in an unearthly glow. They undress like they had that time many months ago, when Guanlin called him ‘your highness’, when Jihoon wasn’t plagued with the thought that Guanlin is his _philtatos_ , his most beloved. Jihoon thinks now, that despite Guanlin’s Godly appearance, he is the most human thing he has ever met. They wade out, until the water is past their waists and they touch the sunlight. It’s almost a physical thing now and Jihoon can feel it pressing down onto his shoulders, beating against his hair. The blood on him is washed away by the tide and the grit on him washed away by the breeze. In the sea, you can start again. In the sea, they are both Gods. Guanlin grins over at him, cheshire cat grin with his cheeks on fire and Jihoon loves him so much he wishes they were gods on land, too. Then they can be together. 

“I don't know what I would have done if you had died out there today,” Guanlin says and his voice washes over him, refreshing. He closes his eyes to it, Guanlin’s _everything_ too bright for him to resist. 

“Then it is a good job that I didn’t,” he replies and he’s so busy trying to keep his body afloat and his eyes closed at the same time that he doesn’t notice Guanlin has drawn closer until he speaks again. 

“I suppose it is,” he says and he’s so much closer now, that Jihoon can feel his breath against his bare chest. 

“Open your eyes,” Guanlin whispers and Jihoon does because he has never been able to say no. Not then, not now, not ever. He decides in this moment that everything is in love with the boy in front of him. The sun loves him, and the sea and the God’s and the people, the land and Jihoon’s father and the scent of honeysuckle that has recently taken to clinging to him. _Gods do not love mortals._ Guanlin brings his hand up to cup Jihoon’s face, to draw him closer like he thought Jihoon wouldn’t do it himself. His other hand goes to his bare waist, pressing them together in the water. 

“I feel this is long overdue,” Guanlin murmurs and before Jihoon can reply, they are kissing. Gods will bow to them like this, he thinks as his and Guanlin’s lips slide together, wet with salt water. Guanlin is honeysuckle and the air at dawn, olives and figs and sweat and glory. The taller boy pulls away and Jihoon follows him pathetically, desperate for more of him. He would die for him, live for him, cross the sea and the stars and fly too close to the sun, move the earth for him, if he wanted. Guanlin leans forward, close enough that Jihoon can see the black that rings his irises. A prince, a servant boy, a god. 

“You are all things soft and golden and wonderful in this world, Park Jihoon and, if you’ll let me, I will love you like the sea loves the sand, like the light loves your skin, like blush loves your cheeks. Irrevocably, endlessly,” Guanlin reaches up to fit his hands into the junction of Jihoon’s neck and shoulder, slick with sweat and water. _Fragile sparrow bones, we have made a falcon out of you yet._ Jihoon breathes in and his chest bumps against guanlin’s own. His breath catches with all that he wants to say. _Gods are not meant to love mortals, I never thought you would love me, I cannot tell you how much you mean to me._ He watches Guanlin, his heavy doe eyes, his strong sailor’s nose and jaw. 

“I will let it,” he says finally, “for you are all that I do love in this world in human form.”

 

it is dusk, and buckets of gold pour down on them from above. 

 

*

 

_sixth; he loves you too_

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> hello!! it's over, i sincerely hope you enjoyed this as much as i love writing it! and I REALLY loved writing this. if any of you have read the book 'the song of achilles' (if you havent, please do!!!) then you will have probably noticed the similarities to this piece, the setting, or occasionally the wording and writing ( i tried so hard not to plagiarise lmao). to be honest, i had no idea what i was doing this whole time, nothing was planned out, every scene was improvised. i saw the poem (the one to six thing) and just decided to begin writing so i hope it doesn't seem to haphazard! i orIginally had A LOT more to say but i've forgotten it all!! OH YES, my writing style in this compared to other fics is a LOT different, it won't be like this always, won't be so very formal or 'old english-y' but i felt it fitted the setting and the plot so yes!!!!! i really do hope you enjoyed pls leave feedback !!! contact me on tumblr @4gguks and twitter @tenpwj (if you've read my previous works, then yes, they've both changed!!) lots of love <333333333333


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